


Challenges of Surviving Pun Wars

by Lunaraen



Series: Challenges of [5]
Category: Challenge of the Spooky Isles
Genre: Bad Puns, Magical Realism, Team Dynamics, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 10:23:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20777003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunaraen/pseuds/Lunaraen
Summary: It would be a lot easier to enjoy their lazy-day if Quinn and Durango weren't both terrible with puns and terribly determined to use them.River and Toby try to survive anyway.





	Challenges of Surviving Pun Wars

The grass is short and dry, nearly crisp enough to crunch under their feet. An occasional stray cloud and a few distant hawks are dotted throughout the bleached out blue of the sky.

The birds don't circle, diving out of sight after several minutes of effortless gliding.

The grass is as deadly still as the air, springing into motion only when a mouse or rabbit decides to dart across the endless stretch of ground, from one patch of yellow greenery to another, waiting for cloud cover and cooler weather that won't come for several more hours.

It's not a desert or one of the outright dry grasslands, but it's on its way there.

(It is, unfortunately, the exact opposite of any mushroom biome, which are used to the apparent calm but also have the promise of life, of water somewhere or everywhere, which don’t have rolling fields to worry about and instead have murky bogs and swamps.

It goes without saying that Mo's feeling more than a little homesick.)

For the most part, though, even that much motion is rare, and they've just got the dying promises of a breeze that'll never properly start and the relentless sunlight to entertain them.

It's a good thing Mo's cap protects them from so much shade, protects their eyes from directly having to deal with the onslaught of light and heat, or they'd probably be feeling as energy-sapped as the others look.

(That might have something to do with how early they all got up, though.)

They don't have a map- they _did_, at one point, but Kate had lost it during an encounter with a river nymph.

(It's best left at that.

Kate's still not great at dealing with guilt, or any other emotion, and she gets horribly flustered every time it comes up.)

It works out alright anyway, because they've all done their bit of hero work for the week, came out of the entire mess more or less as they entered, and they're not travelling with a specific purpose at the moment. As tired as they might all feel and look, they have all the supplies they need. There's no doubt in anyone's mind that they're setting up camp early today, the weather nice enough and their goals the right amount of vague and aimless to justify a break to soak it all in and relax.

All they're waiting for is the right area, somewhere slightly more protected than the rolling stretches of barren plains.

They've been able to see the distant forest for hours, linked branches and towering trunks promising shade as well as a few monsters to maybe knock around, creeping more and more into view the longer they travel, and they're lucky that they reach it before the sun hits its peak.

Still, it's more luck than most of them are used to, and Quinn's the one who goes in first, sword raised and Theseus and Durango following close behind.

Then they're almost immediately telling the others to follow them, because they _have to see this_.

And they do.

It's wonderfully shaded, for one thing, and Mo's eyes adjust the fastest. They're glad they do.

Their planned camping ground isn't the usual forest, and it's a rare moment when encountering the strange and unusual benefits them. The trees more or less create a comfortable but large ring around a clearing filled with patches of different flowers and bees buzzing overhead. There's a slow river, too shallow for fish but a good explanation for how lush the grass is, greenest right at its banks and competing with the most colorful flowers.

"You've seen one flower forest, you've seen them all." Kate's comment is nonchalant, almost bored as she shrugs, but it doesn't hide how wide her eyes are, sunglasses having slipped slightly down her nose.

And of all of them, she and Zed are the only one who've ever seen one. Most of them had been to and seen other biomes, if only briefly, before being plucked from their homes, but not one as rare as this. Theseus, who spent most of his life on islands without a single flower forest, looks nearly ready to throw down his pack right now and start sketching every detail.

Mo's eyes, however, are right back on the others, watching and waiting because there's some kind of tension here and they know it.

* * *

River and Toby are equals in how utterly trapped they feel by the crushing sense of incoming doom.

The pause to take the view in- this vibrant mix of greenery and colorful petals hovered over by idling fuzzballs and cut through by the sluggish winding stream- lasts only long enough for one of River's fingers to twitch while Toby winces.

When Durango opens his mouth, it's too late to retreat.

"Well, it looks bee-utiful enough."

Quinn bounces back fastest, replying almost immediately and grinning as she does.

"If you say so- I don't get what all the buzz is about."

The others groan, as is expected when it comes to poor jokes and wordplay, but they don't get it. They don't comprehend what horribly bad news this is. Not yet.

(In all their talking on the pillars to pass the time, it hadn't come up that Durango, cocky as he already normally is, could be insufferably proud of his puns, or that Quinn has a seeming inability to not share the ones that pop into her head at random, which are of course all terrible. Durango's weren't, and aren't, any better. Quinn and Durango, in all their time working with Kate and Zed and all their time talking and bickering with each other, had likewise somehow missed bringing it up or displaying their natural, painful talents.)

Toby and River glance at each other.

It's a look of immediate kinship, of "ah, yes, you- you know the hell I've been through, you have suffered as I have." But they can't escape the recognition that comes with it, the knowledge that their tormentors have not only joined forces, but that they have found kinship in each other as well and in their shared form of torture.

Not only are Durango and Quinn going to keep making puns, they're going to make _more_ now.

The look River and Toby share is, at its core, one of pure terror, tinged with rising horror and built upon the stable ground of well-established exasperation. It's one that screams to the heavens, shrieking in a hopeless plea, begging for mercy that will never be granted. It's a look that clearly embodies the very spirit of "_no_".

Quinn and Durango, however, share their own glance, one already itching with the need to compete, to conspire as well as utterly obliterate each other. Their look replies, loudly, clearly, and gleefully, with no room for any argument, "_yes_".

* * *

"I always figured Quinn would be, y'know, too cool for bad jokes. They don't seem her style." River traces the petal of a particularly large red flower, touch as light as she can manage. Beside her, Toby tosses another pebble into the stream, and she does her best to not flinch at the splash or the water that hits her arm.

"And I'd hoped Durango would be too worried about hurting his 'tough cowboy' image."

"Guess we were both unlucky." River leans back, resting one hand on the grass as she glances over her shoulder at where Durango and Quinn are still at it. "D'you think they hate us?"

"Not half as much as I hate them."

"They- they've gotta tire themselves out at some point, right?" Everyone else is busy relaxing, or napping, or exploring the clearing and watching the bees without getting too close, having given up waiting. Slugger's on watch in case anyone screws up and manages to anger the swarm, and Mo's slouched beside her, mushroom covering their eyes but not their steady breathing. River's ready for a nap herself at this point, and the dark circles under their punny tormentors' eyes are hard to miss. "Don't they?"

"Nope." Toby lays back on the grass, one foot in the water and his eyes half lidded. He looks as tired as she feels, though there's an exaggerated bitterness she can agree with too. "They just have to outlive the rest of us long enough."

They wait there, for a while, not saying anything and doing their best to not wince with every bad pun (and there are _so many_ and they are somehow _getting worse_), until Quinn makes an especially bad one about honey. Toby almost jerkily stands up, taking his foot out of the water like it's burned him, and starts walking, half hopping as he shoves his sock and shoe back on.

"Where are you going?"

"Back to the Greek Isles- the kraken eating me would be less painful than this."

"...I think I might just join you." River stretches her arms to the side as she stands, pushing herself up even as the rest of her body demands she stay down and keep watching the bees. "Want to get started on dinner?"

Technically it should be lunch, but they've all been up since before the sun rose and they had something close to two meals already, and hunger is hunger. They'll make food and they'll enjoy it, no matter what it should or shouldn't technically be called.

"I don't see why not. It'll serve them right if they miss out because they're too busy being _total dorks_."

His voice gets loudest at the end, glaring over his shoulder at Durango and Quinn to make sure they know exactly who he's talking about.

Durango doesn't bother responding to it in any way, too busy making rapid-fire puns, and Quinn's gaze doesn't shift even as she makes an... interesting hand gesture in Toby's general direction- he just laughs, rolls his eyes, and keeps walking.

It's not the same team relationship she and Durango had, or even the same friendship they've got now, but River's glad Quinn and Toby aren't serious with their bickering.

The supplies are hastily scattered, anything not currently being used as a pillow left in a bit of a disheveled circle of their own, but it's easy enough to get the cauldron set up and to start sifting through the ingredients they have. In the meantime, they keep chatting, with each other and quietly with Theseus.

(It was, it turns out, a lie to say that everyone had given up waiting.

While Rudi and Sacha are, like almost everyone, sleeping, they've apparently set up a betting pool for who'll win the pun war. Rudi's personally in Durango's camp while Sacha's own vote is for Quinn, but Theseus doesn't mention what anyone else has bet.)

"...personally, I don't really think there's a way to win _or_ lose, especially not with those two." He looks almost forlorn as he keeps sketching, using his knees to support the journal and keep it upright. "I'd join them, but most of the puns I know probably aren't funny to people who aren't from the Greek Isles. Too much focus on legendary monsters or the Gods."

"Believe me, we're glad. It's bad enough with just the two of them."

Theseus lights up and River bites her tongue, knowing why and knowing it’s too late to try and save the situation.

"That one wasn't half bad!"

Toby's brow furrows for half a moment and relaxes just as briefly, eyes narrowing as he frowns.

'Bee-lieve'.

"I'm going to drown myself in the river."

"Nah, come on." River grabs Toby's shoulder as he begins to turn and gently tugs him back, giggling. He's pouting, but he doesn't try to get up again. "I still need your help with cooking."

"Anyone else could help."

"Yeah, but this way we can keep each other busy, make some nice stew for when everybody's awake, and I can make sure you don't go and try to kill 'em." She passes him a few potatoes, eyeing the oddly shaped carrot at the bottom of the pile.

"You make it sound so nice."

"...I'm glad they're enjoying themselves. I mean, I hope they'll stop soon or that this'll keep them from making more puns later, but I'm not expecting it and that's not the point. They're having a good time. No monsters, nobody to save, nothin' to run from, no squabbling... just them goofing off."

"...I'm glad too." Toby unwraps one of their bundled knives, blade slicing through the bumpy and ruddy potato skin. "I still want to throw myself in the stream. I _really_ want to throw Quinn in the stream, but there's no way I can do that."

She'd just yank his arm and flip him _backwards_.

River tries not to laugh or chuckle, but Toby's pout lets her know she's failing; she doubts he can really blame her, not when the mental image is so funny.

She pats his shoulder before she starts cutting the carrot into more typical carrot slice shapes, dropping them one by one into the pot. Funny or not, she can understand where he’s coming from, helped as it all might be by the exhaustion settling in all their bones and the hunger beginning to gnaw at the back of their minds.

"If you figure out a way, let me know. I'll have to try it with Durango."

Toby's eyebrow quirks as his gaze turns calculating, the shrewd look not quite completed by the small smile he can't hide.

"Is that a mean streak?"

"It's a fed-up-with-puns streak." Still, River's fingers fiddle with the inedible top of the carrot for several moments before she sets it and the knife aside, hands clasped in her lap as she glances away. "You're right, I wouldn't do it. Not really. I'd worry too much about hurting him, but I don't think I ever could."

River waits, for a moment, waits to see if he’ll joke about her being too gentle or too much of a worrywart, but if Toby thinks about it, he doesn’t show it.

"...I don't want to hurt Quinn either, and the river's too shallow to really throw anybody into it." Toby tosses his now-peeled and chopped potato into the cauldron before starting the process again, barely avoiding nicking one of his fingers as he does. "We'll just go and splash them after we're done cooking."

The mat Theseus is sitting on shifts on the grass as he stretches, pencil still gripped in one hand as he grins at them, dipping back into the conversation as quickly as he'd left it.

"That sounds like fun. Just- please try to leave my art out of it."

River and Toby share another glance, this one far less exasperated or terrified, and River's excitement wins first.

"You could help!"

Theseus tilts his head, closing his journal as he does.

"I'm still the son of somebody who was _seen_ as the god of the ocean and I spent most of my life completely surrounded by water. Seems a little unfair, don't you think?"

Another sliced up potato gets tossed into the pot as Toby snorts.

"It's hardly the sea." The river is long, likely stretching out of the forest and across many empty plains like the ones they had to cross, but it isn't terrifyingly deep like the ocean, dark blue with the promise of untold horrors, and it's hardly as vast, only wide enough for a person to lie in. (Even a person who can’t swim can stand comfortably in the stream, content in knowing the water's too gentle to be any trouble if they fall.)

Theseus hums and tilts his head again, but his smile isn't enough of an answer. River pushes the subject again, gently.

"You don't have to, but we'd sure enjoy it if you would."

Theseus's smile grows, and she realizes his smile _was_ an answer. He wasn't considering saying yes; he was putting his strategizing to good use and was working out his battle plan. Theseus might not be the leader of their group, but he's a wonderful fighter and an excellent tactician.

"Alright, we'll have them outnumbered."

There’s no doubt in her mind that the others will join in- and a little horsing around before dinner sounds perfect.


End file.
